


China Doll

by A_Diamond



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Slightly Cracky Ending, doll kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I look like a doll, I fuck like a man."</p>
<p>Inspired by a comment from last night's @midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	China Doll

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened.

Sherlock shifted his weight from one half of his arse to the other. It was an impressive display of restraint, given his usual fits of boredom, but John still reached up to swat him lightly on the knee.

"No fidgeting," he admonished, smiling to take the sting out of it; Sherlock really was doing exceptionally well.

Of course, the detective had to test that goodwill by opening his petulant mouth: "Honestly, John, I don't see the point in this absurd exercise. It's needlessly time-consuming and frankly quite counterproductive, when you follow it to its logical endpoint. I just don't see the appeal," he concluded in an attempted huff that came out more of a whine.

"The appeal," John smoothed black nylon over the knee he'd just swatted, "is that I am a dirty, dirty pervert," guided a stockinged leg into a knee-high boot, "and you indulge me now and again," tugged laces just to the edge of uncomfortably tight, "because it turns me on so very much," pressed a reverent kiss to an inner thigh, "to see you all dressed up for me."

He stood and offered his hands to help Sherlock up from the chair, then stepped back to just admire for a moment.

A self-conscious blush warmed Sherlock's cheekbones, fighting past the porcelain white foundation he'd applied at John's request. His lips flushed even darker, painted burgundy with the slightest hint of glossy shine. Above, his dark hair curled enticingly, and below...

Below. John wet his lips, slowly tracing his eyes across the lacy collar encircling Sherlock's neck, pale and long with no cosmetic assistance, then down the black and lilac bodice dipping beneath pronounced clavicles. It fit his lover's form perfectly, sleeves just brushing his shoulders before vanishing in an understated ruffle. Sleek ribbon overlaid the boning stretched tightly across his chest, which made no excuses or apologies for its lack of feminine curvature.

The skirt flared from Sherlock's waist and cut across mid-thigh in the front, but sloped at the sides to drape in pleats and ruffles down the back. The fabric framed a bare glimpse of garters holding up sheer stockings with thin, vertical black stripes, which in turn slid into glossy ebony boots. They barely had any heel, it wasn't as though Sherlock needed to be any taller, but it certainly completed the look.

Apparently determining that John had looked his fill, and smirking down at the erection John knew must be obvious through his trousers, Sherlock commented, "You're unspeakably depraved, you know."

"I am," the doctor agreed as he moved in close and brushed a hand across one pale cheek, curving to cup against the cool neck. "But it's bloody impossible to feel bad about it when I get a doll as pretty as you out of it."

The disgusted face Sherlock made in response was belied by the heat rising under John's hand. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered.

"You look amazing." John let his other hand slip under the angled skirt, tracing from outer thigh to inner and back, moving ever-so-slowly upward. "A perfect china doll. It's like you were made for this, love."

"Is that so?" Sherlock's uncertain tone dropped into a husky growl and his usual commanding presence reasserted itself as he pressed forward into the points where he and John connected. "And what were you made for, then?"

Caught off guard, John could only blink up at him. Sherlock grinned a bright, predatory grin and snatched both hands off him in an instant, spinning them both around and crowding John against the chair with wrists held above his head so that he was forced into a backwards curve.

"I'll tell you, shall I? You were made for me, John. You were made for my cock in your mouth and your hands and your arse. You were made to beg me to fuck you, weren't you?"

"Yes," John gasped, overwhelmed between the contact and the demanding purr of Sherlock's voice.

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's ear, which conveniently pressed other bits against each other. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, please, love! Please, fuck me."

"I'll take my time," Sherlock promised.

"Please."

"But don't think for a moment that I'm going to be gentle."

"Please!"

Sherlock released him abruptly, pulling him away from the chair only to push him down to his knees. "Beg properly."

Diving forward, he ducked his head under the front ruffles of the skirt, which turned out to be the perfect length to rest over his hair as he admired the view below: Sherlock, bare but for the garter belt, and prick at the ready. With a noise in the back of his throat somewhere between a moan and a whine, he began to worship the man before him.

After a short time, Sherlock yanked him off by his hair and he fell against the chair legs before steadying himself. "You have until I return to have your clothes off and your elbows on that cushion."

John, rushing to obey, stood and spun in place as he reached for his belt. Glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock stalking towards the bedroom in heels and a bastardised Victorian gown, he yanked shirt and jumper off in one go and bent over the seat of the chair to wait.

In moments Sherlock was behind him. Two slick fingers pushed inside without warning and John groaned through the pressure. Keeping to his word, Sherlock spent long, agonising minutes playing with him. It was hardly preparation—though he did occasionally add more lubricant, Sherlock refrained from stretching him any further than happened naturally with the slow, torturous strokes that teased the edges of his prostate without satisfaction.

At last, finally, the fingers were replaced by the cock he was made for. Sherlock was rough and wonderful as he shoved in, and the feel of the dress crumpling between them just above John's arse, the mental image of a delicate porcelain Sherlock being the one fucking him with harsh, possessive thrusts and animalistic grunts, was enough to send him over the edge.

Sherlock didn't last much longer, but he didn't slow until he did, sinking his teeth into John's shoulder blade at the last, jerking push.

They held themselves up, mostly supported by John's arms against the chair, and panted for breath. Before either could recover, the door burst open and a gruff voice swore, "Christ Almighty!"

John groaned, his face pressed to the cushion. "Hello, Greg. Yes, this is more or less exactly what it looks like."

"I did knock."

"We were preoccupied," Sherlock retorted dryly, not bothering even to pull out of John. "Leave the file, we'll meet you at the Yard in half an hour."

The silence was broken only by the thud of falling paper and a door slamming much harder than was probably called for, then Sherlock's chuckle. "You really are a dirty, dirty pervert."

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a while ago but did so anonymously, because I felt weird about it - particularly as my first contribution to the Sherlock fandom. But you know what? It is what it is, and it's mine.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> A. Diamond


End file.
